Douglas
by Na00mi
Summary: Self-explanatory. Gilan takes on an apprentice with a mysterious past. 29/11/09 EDIT: Spoilers included. Rated T for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**Eve of the Choosing Day**_

_Sometimes, even though food – tempting, delicious food, food that makes you crave more, eat until you can't eat it anymore – is placed in front of you, you suddenly feel like you don't want to eat it. You can't eat it, you just _can't,_ your stomach twists and turns around, squirming, clenching itself into a small ball, simply defying any attempts to digest food. You feel like you want to puke if you do eat._

That dilemma was what Douglas was facing now, seated on a sturdy wooden chair, in front of his favourite chewy brown rice. Plates piled at least an inch high with vegetables and smoky meat were placed barely an arm's length away from him. Yet looking at them made him feel like vomiting.

His stomach couldn't, _wouldn't_, calm down, no matter how many times Douglas tried to relax. And how could he, really, if tomorrow was the day that would decide how he spent his life? How could he, then? Nothing would let him relax.

Choosing Day.

Was there some kind of reverse psychology working around it? In the past, ever since he came here, he had waited, rather impatiently, for the day to come. Now that it was near, he suddenly wanted it never to come, or just curl up and die. He never wanted to –

'''Eat something, Douglas,'' a soft voice said quietly, making the aforementioned start slightly and look up abruptly. His eyes locked gazes with Amber, a redhead whose naturally straight hair was tied up into a ponytail. Her thick fringe fell, almost covering her eyes. The eyes, which gave Amber her name, stared unblinkingly into Douglas's own eyes. Straight nose, high cheekbones and full strawberry-red lips ended the picturesque look.

Douglas, unwilling to eat in the very likely event that he would retch because of his squirmy stomach, smiled lopsidedly, shaking his head. He couldn't. Just couldn't. No point in trying to, if that was the case.

''Nervousness, I'd imagine.'' A voice said. Douglas looked at the speaker, another ward. Matthew, his name was, though many called him Matt instead. He was the average-looking boy: brown hair and eyes. The only thing about his features worth remembering was that there was a severe outbreak of pimples, nothing more. Matthew started to ramble on about anxiety, until Douglas got sick of it. His eyes met with Amber's briefly, who smiled sympathetically. She could see how tired Douglas was of the lecture. He always marvelled at her paitence; how could she actually endure it? But that was probably why she was best suited for the Diplomatic School ''Erm... Matt, about just now, I didn't get that point, could you explain again?'' Amber asked Matthew, giving Douglas a clear way out of this mess. Smiling gratefully, he cast a quick glance at Matthew, who was all too pleased that he had a question, thus demonstrating his wealth of knowledge. Quietly, Douglas got out of his seat, ghosting to the door, which was thankfully open. Mouthing the words _Thank you _to Amber, he sneaked out of the room.

&&&

_Did it just rain? _Douglas mused to himself as he laid down on a patch of grass. As mentioned, it was slightly damp, lightly soaking through the clothes Douglas wore, causing him to shiver slightly. Lazy, however, to get up, Douglas stayed put, staring up into the blackish-blue night blanket which was dotted with tiny stars that alternatively flashed on and off.

Douglas was in a small clearing he had found when he was making one of his frequent exploration. A tiny stream ran nearby, providing water to the nearby trees. As a result, trees were growing around the area, but ultimately, flowers and weeds grew the closest to the water source. There was only a small area that wasn't covered with any plants, and that was where Douglas was lying on. His arms acted as a pillow, if hard and uncomfortable, for his head.

Slowly, as he grew less aware of his surroundings, Douglas began to hum, a lullaby that his mother had sung to him before. There was no words to the song, just the melody, soothing him of his worries. Halfway through the song, he heard a _crack_ resound through the trees, then a few muffled curses.

_Shit! _Douglas thought, scrambling up hastily. It was pure good luck, then, that he had been humming the song softly, thus giving no warning to the three idiots out there that he knew of their presence.

The three fools, as he had named them, were Samuel, Brian and Joe. They were burly fifteen-year-old kids, who had decided that they despised the wards, or more specifically, Douglas, as he had only been living in Whitby Fief for the past two years. They seemed to make it a goal to track down and beat up Douglas, though it was only on rare occasions that they managed to accomplish their target. How they found out he was here, Douglas had no clue, but it was too late anyway – they were too close for him to run now. Seeing they had only one goal in mind, Douglas benefited from the last few, fight-free moments by doing quick stretches, preparing for the fight

Just as he completed his warm-up, he saw the trio break out of cover, coming into plain view. They were in the common arrowhead formation, with Joe at the front. A tall boy, eye-level with Douglas, he had a smashed nose that was courtesy of Douglas. He'd never gotten over the blow. Now, as he saw his target, he smirked, ''Well, well well, what do we have here, eh, boys?'' Though Joe was the weakest fighter of the three idiots, he made up for it with his sarcastic tongue. Cliché, Douglas thought, hearing snickers.

Making sure his voice dripped boredom, as if it was too below him, Douglas sighed, ''If you're here for a fight, just go ahead and do it.''

Joe's eyebrow and mouth formed an arch and an unbelieving O respectively. Turning to Samuel and Brian, he exclaimed in mock surprise, ''Oh my God! To think that the rug rat is actually this violent!'' More sniggers, then, Joe added, ''But, I guess that's natural. Although, since you're looking for one...''

In perfect synchronization, Samuel and Brian stepped forwards, besides Joe. Both held the threatening look of a stevedore, which wasn't much. They just looked stupid. Their arms crossed, they walked slowly to Douglas, grinning their heads off. The latter rolled his eyes, thinking all the show was for nothing. In an attempt to provoke them, Douglas said, ''Come on, be faster. Or...'' He paused needlessly, then continued with a smirk, ''Are you two just too afraid?''

That did it. Like idiots, which they were anyway, they lost their composure and charged forwards at Douglas, roaring out their challenge to him

Being the faster of the two, Brian was the first to reach Douglas, his arm drawn backwards for his famous upset punch. Douglas sidestepped out of the way, pleased that just behind him was a tree. Brian's fist thudded into the trunk, which somehow managed to absorb the blow, seeing it was only a young tree. The same couldn't be said for Brian, though, who howled in pain.

Instinctively looking at Brian, Douglas had only kept his eyes off Samuel for a second, but it was enough for the latter, who delivered a powerful middle heel kick. All Douglas felt was a sudden explosion of pain in his right side, then a brief flying experience. He came crashing down onto the forest floor, pain filling his entire frame, punishment for his distraction.

Forcing his eyes to focus on Samuel, Douglas saw the former running to him, rage boiling up in him. He raised his arm, intending to pummel it into Douglas's stomach, but sadly he was just too slow. Douglas rolled out of the way, the right side of his body yelling out protest. He couldn't afford to pay any attention to them, though, as he completed another roll and barely missed another stomach-pummeling punch.

He couldn't perform another roll, that much he knew. He got up swiftly, grateful for his speed, but which didn't help much for his balance. He wobbled slightly, feeling his head rather dizzy. Ignoring it, he aimed a kick at Samuel's knee, intending to cripple him.

His aim was true, his heel connecting perfectly with the shin bone. Samuel yelled out in pain and automatically grabbed his knee pathetically. With a snort, Douglas brought his elbow up and smashed it into Samuel's nose, feeling a satisfying jolt up his arm and an equally pleasing _crunch. _

As he glanced away from Samuel, he heard a twig snap. He glanced around at the sound, then ducked as Brian sent a punch flying towards where Douglas's face had been. The latter slammed his foot down the arch of Brian's ankle.

Douglas wondered vaguely how could Brian yell so loudly and still have enough energy to bellow painfully, without sounding hoarse. But he did, and blocking out his shout, Douglas shoved his fist into his stomach, then taking advantage of Brian's momentary distraction, jabbed at his solar plexus.

With both of Joe's men taken care of, Douglas looked at the said person. He made a show of shaking his head in disappointment, saying, ''I'm curious – Joe, tell me why you get them to fight me... unless, of course, you need them to protect you, 'cause... you know, they _are_ rather burly.''

That did the trick. Joe, already enraged, roared and charged forward like a bull. Douglas, seeing that, simply sidestepped when Joe was a meter away, then stuck out his foot, sending Joe crashing headlong into the forest floor. Joe got up, trembling with suppressed anger. His eyes burned with anger and his fists were clenched and shaking.

In a way, Douglas found that amusing.

As if sensing what he felt, Joe started towards him again. He was nearly running, drawing his fist back for a punch. Douglas, too quick for him, jumped up, kicking Joe's back in a flying side kick. He stumbled forwards, and Douglas, landing on the balls of his feet, hit him squarely on his neck.

A groan and Joe went down, like his two friends. Just to kick him further when he was down, both figuratively and literally, Douglas leaned down and whispered in his ear, ''Well, I guess that the _rug rat_ is still rather strong, eh? Maybe you should pick a weaker target next time.'' Standing up, he allowed himself the luxury of kicking Joe, then walked away, nursing his bruised knuckles. He was sure a bruise would appear, if it hadn't already, on the side of his body, where the bastard Samuel had kicked him.

Preoccupied with this, it was no wonder then that he didn't see a shadow detach itself from a tree trunk and move silently over to examine the injured fools.

&&&

The door leading to the dormitories of boys swung on its hinges silently, as Douglas entered the room. The wooden door swung back, creaking ever so slightly, causing the figure to freeze immediately. Several seconds later, satisfied that no one was waking up, Douglas relaxed, mentally cursing the door.

He walked stealthily to his bed, making sure the bed didn't creak when his weight was on it. When he was finally lying on top of it, staring up the ceiling, he began to feel strands of worry and anxiety all over again. He wondered about tomorrow. His choice was, of course, BattleSchool, but even though he was tall, he was slim. Yes, despite that, he was still strong, but if anything, he had learned that people tended to judge others based on their first impressions – their appearance, in short.

Nervously, he swallowed, trying to calm down.

_Breathe in... breathe out.... breathe in.... breathe out..._

Gradually, through that form of relaxtion, his eyelids grew heavier as his body relaxed. His breathing slowed down. Sleepily, the last thought he had was of another choice, another choice he could take...

**A/N: So this is my... second fic. First for this - I was doing the fic Amy. But after the exams the entire stress and stuffs got to my head and I forgot the pass. DD=**

**Okay, so yeah, doing this again. I'll apologize if a) my grammer is too bad, b) it seems like I'm ripping off the actual RA or another fic. I'm looking for a beta, to solve my grammar problem (I'm an Ah-Lian =DD), and urm... I need insipration!**

**R&R please! =DD**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: OMG I _FOR_GOT.**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO _NOT _OWN _RANGER'S APPRENTICE_. IT'S WRITTEN BY JOHN FLAGANAN, WHO IS _NOT_ ME. DD= THIS _APP_LIES TO EVERY SINGLE PAGE, EVERY SINGLE LETTER/PUNCTUATION THAT I WRITE IN THIS FIC.**

**SPOILERS _ALERT:_**

**And me, clueless me, forgot something DD=. Their bloody _age_. Right, so... yeah I have _no _idea how old any of the characters may be. So from whatever reason I've decided, I'll say that Will is currently 29 now. He's married to Alyss. Horace and Evanlyn are together... somehow. Duncan is still ruling the kingdom. Halt has retired, due to an injury in Book9, even though I've not yet gotten _Halt's Peril, _-coughstingydadcough-. Gilan is 36, married to Jenny, 29, who has moved her restaurant to Whitby Fief. She lives in the cabin with Gilan (I'm assuming that since she doesn't hold a job in the castle, she can't move into the castle). =DD now reaad on~**

The high-backed wooden chair creaked as Baron Lairds settled himself comfortably on it. A tall, heavyset man of nearly five decades old, Baron Lairds sported a surprisingly straight nose for one who had been involved in several wars. A heavily musculed figure, Baron Lairds was also starting to develop stiffness in his joints, surely a sign that he had to retire and allow his post to be open for a younger male with no aching knees.

''My lord, they are outside,'' Dean, a young male of slight build, quietly said. ''What? Ah, yes, yes, call them in,'' Baron Lairds answered, rather distractedly. He watched his secretary trot off to call in the Wards, drumming his fingers on the desk as he waited.

About half a minute later, he saw Dean shepherd three people in. Without doubt, they were the fifteen-years-old Wards, lining up for the Choosing. One of them was a girl, her long, ruby-red hair leaving no doubts to it.. The other two were boys. One of them was pale, only sporting a light tan, the other was browned, tanned enough that he had an almost-nut brown complexion. He had severely rumpled hair, as if he hadn't bothered to comb his hair. Baron Lairds smiled, amused as he watched the male smooth down his unruly hair, obviously from Dean's orders, or the boy would've never done so. Dean's efforts were wasted, though, for immediately, as soon as the pressure from the boy's hand left his hair, it sprung up again. It was oddly funny, then even more so as Dean tried to line them up according to height. The pale boy came first. Then, a scene occurred as Dean tried to judge whether the tanned boy was taller, or the girl was. Baron Lairds thought the girl was shorter, but he had arrived at that conclusion because of the boy's wild hair.

Eventually, Dean seemed to have decided that the tanned teenager would be the last. Baron Lairds's mirth faded away as his secretary drew breath. In a carrying voice, he told his Baron, ''The Wards are assembled, my lord.''

''Very well, Dean, could you then call in the Craft Masters? '' Baron Lairds requested.

''My lord!'' Dean nodded rapidly, then walked in his usual quick stride towards the main, old door of the room. The door reluctantly opened, giving a lasting creak that protested its unwillingness to do so. ''Craft Masters, the Baron is ready.'' Dean said, ignoring the noisy door.

Baron Lairds watched his Craft Masters come in one by one. Even though today was a formal occasion, they still saw no need for any particular order, respecting each other.

Hence, the first to come in was Baron Lairds's Battle Master, Sir Nigel. He was, like Baron Lairds, almost fifty years old. Icy, cold blue eyes and a badly reseted nose immediately lead one to the conclusion that he was a man fond of fighting, a local bully boy. The thought was reinforced when the viewer took in the ever-present sword and buckler that all knights were required to carry. The image was false – Nigel was a friendly person for his age, despite being quick-tempered when it came to the topic of his many apprentices.

Next to come in was Lady Irina. Tall, poised, with strawberry-blond hair, she was beautiful, even including the odd strand of grey hair that came from the daily stress of working in the one of the busiest fiefs, if not the _most _busiest fief, in Araluen.

The third to follow was, almost predictably, Keith, the Scribe Master for Whitby Fief, for, besides being close friends with Lady Irina, they also worked together, Keith's scribes preparing official documents and such, which were then delivered by Lady Irina's students. Keith's dark eyes were sharp, making him the perfect person for body language reading.

Fourth and final to enter was the Blacksmith. Tall, muscular, with greasy black hair and keen brown eyes, his arms were well muscled, a prerequisite for the demands of his work.

Had Baron Lairds's attention been less focused on the entrance of the four Craft Masters, he would've noticed a side door silently opening and closing, seemingly by itself, but he didn't, and even if he had his entire attention on it, he would have never been able to see a figure, which moved softly and swiftly, skirting the entire room and coming to where the Baron himself sat.

Baron Lairds resumed focusing on the three Wards, seeing worry on the first boy. ''Right, tallest in line, come and meet the Baron.'' Dean indicated the pale boy, who surprisingly whitened even more. Baron Lairds hadn't thought that he was able to be so white. He saw the slightest squaring of his shoulders, then he walked forward.

''Matthew Tyler, m-my lord.'' He nervously said. Baron Lairds nodded slightly, then he asked, ''And your preference is...?''

''Scribe School... my... my lord.'' He answered after a brief hesitation. In response, Baron Lairds looked towards his Scribe Master, who was already nodding his head. "Accepted and approved, my lord. I've seen his calligraphy, and I believe he has potential to achieve high results in this field.'' Keith said.

Baron Lairds looked back at the boy, smiling slightly. He could see relief in his rather sagged shoulders as the boy released his pent-up breath and his eyes. Hurriedly, the boy stepped back to the comfort of the line, estactic showing in his eyes as he realised he was able to enter his desired School.

Dean then pointed at the second person, the redhead. ''Right, you're next. Step out and meet the Baron."

The girl turned slightly red as she walked forwards. Baron Lairds vaguely wondered why. ''Amber Sanders, my lord. I request to enter the Diplomatic School, my lord." She said out her choice in a sudden, but controlled, rush.

'''Lady Irina?'' Baron Lairds asked. ''Approved and accepted, my lord.'' She said. Baron Lairds, attention back to Amber, saw the slightest sign of relief in her eyes.

''Very well. You're next, address the Baron," Dean told the last Ward, the boy with the coffee tan. Baron Lairds expected a sign of sudden alarm, and thus was rather surprised when he simply walked out, without any indication of whitening whatsoever.

Now that Baron Lairds could see him in a closer view, he realised that the boy's hair was rather colourful. It was medium brown, with subtle hints of gold. Several, more obvious streaks of gold ran through his hair, evidently sun-bleached, though how could he achieve it in this way was unknown to the Baron. His hair was rumpled, messy strands of hair that went poking up and going this way and that way.

''Douglas Hayden, my lord."

Baron Lairds frowned in surprise. The boy's accent was odd. He spoke the Araluen language fluently, Baron Lairds could see, even in that four words, but he had a rather funny dialect. Baron Lairds couldn't place it, and, when he briefly looked at Keith, neither could the latter. Looking back at Douglas, he realised that he had been unresponsive for a bit too long. The teenager had looked at him, his eyes steady and unwavering – much like a Ranger's, Baron Lairds noted.

''So, boy, your choice is?'' Baron Lairds questioned. It had come out quite suddenly, and rather curtly as well. It was too late for the Baron to rephrase the sentence, but the boy didn't seem to take offense, except that Baron Lairds saw, for the first time, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. It was gone as swiftly as it had come, but it definitely was there.

He hesitated for a second, then quietly said, "I wish to be a Ranger, my lord.'' As well as being soft, his tone was also carrying, like the first time he spoke. The Baron had been too occupied with his accent to notice it.

Not that the Baron would notice it now. He blinked rapidly, stunned that the boy could actually make such a request when the Ranger wasn't even here. _What? Make that request when the Ranger isn't even here? I... and, and anyway, how can he be sure that he'll be accepted? _How? Thoughts similar to the two sentences ran around in Baron Lairds's head as he struggled to make sense of the boy's ridiculous decision.

''He's not here, boy, the Ranger for this fief is not present at this Choosing." Shock made Baron Lairds's tone harsher. The boy, however, simply shrugged. "Then I'll go to his cabin." He coolly said.

Baron Lairds opened his mouth to voice an objection, when an amused voice cut in first. ''I have to say, boy, that I'm impressed. I approve and accept, my lord.''

&&&

Gilan had stood by Baron Lairds's desk ever since he entered the room, like he had always did. Nobody ever saw him, his reputation as the best unseen mover in the Ranger Corps, a band of people who excelled at moving unseen, making sure of that. He had watched the entire procedure silently, with no one noticing, not even the boy, Douglas.

The teenager had impressed Gilan, for both his desire to enter the Ranger Corps and for his stubbornness. His wish was what few would want, even given the choice. They thought of the Rangers as black magicians. His stubbornness, Gilan thought, had to be renamed as determination. He didn't give up easily, Gilan noted. And he had excellent mobility, as Gilan had seen. Deciding to cut in, he interrupted the Baron, saying, ''I have to say, boy, that I'm impressed. I approve and accept, my lord.''

Now, as he looked at the Baron, he was grateful he had the sense to hide his face, in the cowl of his Ranger cloak, for the Baron's expression was comical – too comical, indeed. He could feel his lips turning upwards into a ridiculously huge grin, despite his attempts to control it, and from the Craft Masters, heard a slight cough that poorly masked the laughter that the person was feeling.

The Baron, hearing the badly concealed laughter, seemed to collect himself, replying, ''Well, I... very well, then. Tomorrow, the three of you will report to your Craft Masters first thing once you wake up.'' He motioned for his secretary to show the ex-Wards out, then repeat the action to the Craft Masters while he got down from the chair, which sounded out yet another _creak. _His movements showed Gilan that he was still very startled at Douglas's choice. As he disappeared through the door that was directly behind his chair, Gilan prepared to go out through the same way as he had entered, glancing once at the boy as he did so. As he passed by his Baron and his secretary, he heard Baron Lairds ask Dean for the boy's history. Gilan paused by them for a short while, hearing the sentence ''My lord, he had been in this fief for the past two years'' before he had to move on.

As he walked back to his cabin, Gilan thought about his new apprentice. For his size, Gilan mused, he was remarkably hardy, having seen the fight that he had just been involved in. He'd seen the kick that had taken him, yet he was still trotting around perfectly fine. _With him, life should be much more intriguing, _Gilan thought.

He had no idea that that thought was correct – much accurate than he would've guessed.

**A/N: Second chapter! =DD. I like the Baron's POV, it's fun to write. LOL. **

**The only weird thing I find about this fic is that I keep thinking of Douglas as duckee. O.o'' Next chapter will have action! ...I mean mild action (?). I pretty much feel that Douglas's choice might be too sudden for a twist, but then as Halt's Apprentice said, I'm copying too much from the book. DD=**

**BUT ANYWAYS R&R~**


	3. Chapter 3

_**His First Week**_

He had managed to fall down. Again.

_Why won't the damn nightmares leave me? _Douglas wondered as he sat up gingerly – aware that he was still very groggy and anyway the bruise caused by the idiotic Samuel hadn't gone, and so any quick motion would definitely cause another series of quick, stab-like pain – and rubbed his head. It throbbed angrily, especially since he had landed on the same spot for at least the third day successively. His eyes were closed, furrowed now as his fuzzy mind tried to remember what day it was today. He knew an event had occurred yesterday – but what was it? Matthew sleeping during a Geography lesson? No, that wasn't important, or relevant. Then what was?

Ah. He recollected it now. The Choosing Day. The relief he felt must've chased away all the apprehension that he had experienced over the Day. They came back now, though. He had made a rash decision when he said so, when he had announced his choice School. He had wondered almost instantly after that if he had been too quick. After all, he _might _have a chance to get into Battle School. But he had spoken; he couldn't take back the words. Then, when the Baron asked him how would he be accepted, seeing the Ranger wasn't even present, he had proceeded even more recklessly, saying he would simply go to his cabin and ask, all the while thinking, _What the heck, so what? Hang the consequences, I'll go there._

He wasn't sure he could. He knew people thought of them as sorcerers, and even though he didn't believe so, after the Ranger had suddenly spoken, suddenly popped out, he began to consider if the notion was correct. He started to worry, thinking how would the Rangers be like, how his mentor's personality was.

Abruptly, he shook his head, then regretted the movement. It somehow made the bashed part of his head hurt even more. Swaying slightly, and clasping his hand tighter against the spot, he opened his bleary eyes, seeing figures as equally blurry, vague images that temporarily grew doubles, which seemed to disappear and come out again. Douglas didn't realise that it was caused by his slight swinging around. He rubbed at his eyes hard, trying to improve his vision, yawning hugely as he did so.

_I want to sleep..._ The thought suddenly shot up. No. He couldn't. It wouldn't do to let his new Craft Master wait for him. And he had another second reason – Matthew. The boy was waking up, if he saw Douglas still in his bed, the latter would be in for a very rough awakening. He had learned that lesson once, but even that single session left him with no desire to try and snatch a bit more sleep.

Douglas could hear the bed groaning loudly as Matthew turned over, face-up. That meant that he was returning to consciousness; Matthew never tossed around in his bed, unless he was awake. As if to confirm that, Douglas heard a groan, similar to the bed, from Matthew. It turned into a yawn, a loud, drawn-out one.

'' 'Morning, Matt," Douglas greeted, standing up, then lamented that action. It made his head spin, and his head was already grumpy. He exhaled sharply, almost missing the sleepy " 'Morning, Doug" that came from Matthew. Douglas looked around at the former, making sure he turned around slowly. He didn't want to continue torturing his head, though the pain was starting to recede, but too slow for his liking.

&&&

Several glasses of water drunk and splashed on his face later, Douglas was feeling much, much more awake. His head seemed to be less grumpy, a few gentle massages and the pain had gone down to being a dull, ignorable ache.

Douglas threw the mug's remaining water at his head, shuddering as he felt the cold water tricking down his back and chest. Using his hands as a very crude model of a comb – the actual one having disappeared to who-knew-where – he attempted to smooth his untamed hair. He didn't succeed, as usual.

He gave up the task, tromped into the room that he and Matthew shared, even though his footsteps weren't loud. Years of moving silently and the fact that he was parading around barefoot made so. Matthew barely glanced up at him, accustomed to his roommate's bizarre moods.

Throwing his bag down on his bed unceremoniously, Douglas began hunting for his belongings, grumbling to himself about how his clothes seemed to appear in totally random places.

&&&

Gilan stretched himself, releasing a long 'Ahh'. He opened his door to a small, but not poky, and cozy cabin. He had gone out early in the morning to accompany his wife, Jenny, to her famous restaurant in Whitby Fief, with food and beverages toothsome enough to rival Master Glenn, the Kitchen Master of the same Fief.

As he entered his home, closing the door shut behind him, he sat down on a chair, sighing deeply. Today was going to be a really long day of nothing but reports. The only distraction would be his new apprentice. He was going to arrive soon, Gilan thought.

&&&

Douglas trudged up to the Ranger cabin. He paused for a while, thinking of the Ranger's name, then remembered. Gilan. He resumed his pace, watching the path his feet was on, a trail which lead to his new home, where he would stay for the next five to six years. He stumbled slightly on the uneven steps, then managed to retain his balance. He hesitated for a while, hoping that the Ranger Gilan was not a practitioner of the Black Art, then knocked on his door. He heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, then the door seemingly opened by itself. Douglas started slightly, how come he had never heard the sound of a footstep? Even one would tell him that the Ranger was coming, but no, he didn't hear the a single noise at _all. _

''Come in,'' A strangely amused voice told him. Douglas looked up at the speaker, Gilan. He sported slightly windswept bronze-coloured hair, with hazel eyes. They seemed cold, yet warm. Douglas glanced away from his mentor to study the cabin.

It was made up of a living room. There was a fireplace and several chairs surrounding it. A table besides the chairs had its surface vanished under a burial of papers. Douglas wondered how his mentor managed to prevent the papers from falling to the floor. A chair was near the table, with a cloak draped over the back. It was mottled gray and green, extremely dull. A mantel shelf opposite the table held a vase of vivid-coloured wild flowers. Now that he saw the plants, he realised that the air was suffused with a rather fragrant smell.

''Your room is there,'' Gilan said. Douglas glanced at him to find him pointing at a closed door. Perhaps Gilan wasn't a sorcerer. His cabin didn't seem like one anyway; they were supposed to be full of toads and newts and have a cauldron in the exact middle of the room.

Douglas obliged, entering the room and then closing the door. He dumped his bag on the bed, again setting his eyes to examine his bedroom. It was quite the poky room. He could probably touch the entire length of the room, if a, he grew a bit taller and b, stretched his hands and toes. It had a simple bed, drawer, table and chair. Another vase, if slightly smaller, was on the top of the drawer. It contained another bunch of wild flowers. Now that he was in a smaller room, he could smell the perfume of the floras much more strongly. Douglas stared out of the window, watching the shadow of a bird move across the leafy ground speedily.

&&&

Leaning against the wall, Douglas had waited for Gilan to acknowledge his presence. He didn't, he just continued writing. Time crept by. A minute seemed like an hour; an hour felt like a day. Douglas started fidgeting. Patience wasn't very high up on his strengths.

Eventually, after who-knew-how-long, Gilan finally turned around to face his apprentice. Some of his coldness seemed to have disappeared. ''So, boy, you know how to fight with a sword?" He questioned, seeing the swords that Douglas had forgot to put down with his bag. The latter nodded slowly, thinking if his mentor would take offense if he told him that his name was _not _'boy' but 'Douglas'. He decided yes, he would, so it would probably be better to shut up. He realised now that his master was speaking.

''...test your sword-fighting skills later this week. For now, I'll want you to clean up.'' Gilan was saying.

''C-clean?'' Douglas repeated unbelievingly. ''_Clean?'' _

_''_Yes, _clean_, boy, clean. The process by which you remove substances such as dirt from a certain object. Got it?'' Gilan asked pointedly, then without a reply, plunged on, ''Right, I want you to fill up the water barrel, then sweep the floor. When you've done that, tell me.'' Douglas was askance. He hadn't imagined, hadn't taken in the factor that Ranger apprentices were supposed to do the _housework. _His choice, though. It was his choice.

Resigned, Douglas began the first task, then realised something. ''Ah...'' Douglas halted here, unsure of how to address his master. Gilan seemed to have anticipated the question, though, by answering for him, ''Just call me Gilan, boy, and the water barrel's outside. Broom and dustpan are in the kitchen."

Douglas tried to remember all of this. When he felt his brain had the locations in mind, he nodded slowly, then turned to head outside.

If he had looked back, he would've discovered Gilan with a ridiculously wide grin on his face.

&&&

_Ah, the joys of having an apprentice. Such fun. _Gilan thought. Douglas's expressions were priceless. Indeed, they could've surpassed the Baron's comical face. He went into the kitchen, pouring himself a mug of steaming coffee, then helped himself generously to honey. Stirring it leisurely, he began to settle down for a dull morning of reading and writing reports.

Gilan soon discovered that while his apprentice may be excellent at tasks such as sweeping the floor, he was terrible at washing dishes. Barely fifteen minutes and a dish had landed on the wooden floor, colliding and breaking into jagged pieces. A bout of cursing followed shortly after. Gilan frowned, then shrugged it aside. He had broken some of Halt's plates as well, hadn't he? As long as he didn't break Jenny's favourite set, Gilan was okay with it. And the plates and all from the set could never be broken – Jenny didn't allow anyone to come near it, trusting only herself to clean it. But after another two more plates had been broken, Gilan stopped his work again. He decided he had better look at why his apprentice was suddenly being so bear-like.

He soon found out why.

''What? How the... on earth did you manage to do _that?'' _Gilan asked incredulously, staring at his apprentice, who was looking very

Shrugging uncomfortably, Douglas answered, ''Well... you told me to clean, didn't you? So that's what I did. I dried them as well. So... while I was doing this... I don't know how, but the plate just slipped. It fell down... you can see that.

''Ah... then... so I wanted to sweep up. I got the broom out, but then my elbow banged against the dish, so it got broken. I swept it up, broke another dish, which led to you being here.'' Douglas finished.

''Hmm. Fine, then. Clean up, _but, _make sure you do it correctly. I don't need another broken plate. Then I want you to replenish the wood stock. We're running out of firewood. You'll find the trees just behind the cabin. When you're done, place the firewood outside the cabin.'' Gilan told his apprentice. He watched the boy's blank face as he tried absorbed the entire chunk of information Gilan had thrown at him.

&&&

Cooking... well, it was weird, Douglas concluded. After the shower, he had went back to the kitchen, where he was introduced to a new area of learning which involved hacking green vegetables with a large knife, then using another knife to slice some beef – was it beef? - and making cubes. Add them into a boiling pot of clean water, plus some herbs and other odd ingredients. The end result was a pot of stew. Douglas watched the procedure, his teacher having learned that while the former may be extremely agile, that nimbleness deserted him when he entered the kitchen premises. And this would be a perfect excuse for Gilan to see how great his reserves of patience was.

It wasn't a lot.

A minute had passed after the pot had the water boiled, when Douglas began to fidget. He started toying with a previously unseen thick rope. It hung, plaited, around his wrist. It was loose, but not so detached that the rope-bracelet would drop off. ''Just stand still,'' Gilan said, grinning as he carefully shoved the meat-cubes into the pot.

Douglas did that, but within seconds he was back to fiddling with the bracelet.

&&&

''Right. Clean – no, wait, _don't –''_

_''_I can wash up perfectly fine, Gilan. If I break one plate... well, you can set me more tasks to do, or something.'' Douglas told Gilan irritably. Without waiting for his reply, Douglas gathered up the stacked dishes and stalked off to the kitchen.

Gilan watched anxiously, slowly relaxing as he took a sip of coffee from his cup. He had offered Douglas a cup of coffee with honey in it. Douglas had eyed it suspiciously, then tentatively sipped from it.

Almost immediately, his face went through excessively comical expressions – first surprise, then repulsion, then finally disgusted tolerance as the few drops of honeyed coffee dropped into his stomach.

''How can you _stand _that?" Douglas finally asked, taking careful gulps of hot coffee that was safely unpolluted by the honey. ''You'll learn to appreciate it,'' Gilan promised, grinning. He already had a plan for reluctant honey-coffee drinkers.

&&&

In the evening, over mugs of honeyed coffee, or in the case of Douglas, plain old coffee, they sat down, learning about history and geography. Gilan was pleased to note that Douglas displayed keen interest in both areas, especially the latter. He was equally happy to observe that the boy hadn't realise that he was drinking coffee with honey in it – he had spooned in only a few drops of it into the coffee, mixed it around so it wouldn't be detectable. _Taking one small step at a time_, Gilan thought, smiling.

&&&

_His fourth day._

Douglas exited the cabin with his master in front. He fingered the hilt of his sword, feeling the familiar nervousness cloud his thinking. He had finished the housework, and Gilan had managed to find free time to test his sword fighting. ''Right, we'll begin," Gilan announced, breaking the daze that his apprentice was in. He took advantage of that fact, though Douglas learned later that he had been in that trance for a few minutes.

Douglas snapped his head up, looking at his mentor, then swayed to his left dangerously, seeing the older man perform an overhand. In a move instinctive from countless of practice bouts, he unsheathed his sword, then had to jump back almost immediately, seeing Gilan launch his sword in a side cut.

&&&

_The boy is good, but he needs more practice. _

Gilan thought as he studied the boy's skill. Thirty minutes had passed, thirty minutes of Gilan taking the initiative, like what Halt had told him – a man who attacked was in control of the battle. The boy just kept defending. And now, thirty minutes later, he could see that Douglas was flagging. Sweat was tricking down his tanned face, making him positively gleam, like a bronze statue, albeit one that could move freely. His breaths were coming raggedly, yet he was still unwilling to give up. Stubborn would describe him well. He managed to block Gilan's blows when he couldn't avoid it, hacked at Gilan's unprotected parts if he couldn't block or avoid, in any combinations.

Finally, Gilan's sword got past the opponent's guard. Surprised, Gilan halted the sword, just in time. His sword hovered dangerously close to Douglas's head.

''Yield,'' Douglas said, taking a few steps back, out of reach. Without permission, not that he needed it, his apprentice walked over to a grassy patch and flopped down on it, though after sheathing his sword. His flushed cheeks were hard to see under his dark skin tone. ''Good fight,'' Gilan told him. A grin flashed, revealing crooked but white teeth. Gilan saw it and, remembering what hismentor said when he had graduated: ''_Don't ever, if you get an apprentice, praise them – that'd lead to arrogance, overestimating themselves and mistakes will be made.''_

Hence, he quickly added, ''You'd need more practice, though, if you want to make to last longer in combat with me.'' He was pretty sure that Douglas just needed more tactics, endless practice and he'd become an expert swordsman. Though...

''Why do you carrying two swords?'' He asked.

''Dual swords? A habit, I guess. In case, if my sword is stuck somewhere in an enemy's body, I can have another one out.'' Douglas answered. Gilan nodded, though he thought it seemed to be a lie. Then –

''Where do you learn your fighting skills from?''

He saw Douglas's spine stiffen as he froze, his nostrils momentarily flaring. Then he recovered himself. ''Just a friend of my dad.'' He told Gilan evenly.

Douglas's reaction left Gilan in no doubt that he shouldn't question about his past. Not now, at least. Not now.

''Right, you must be hungry, eh?'' Gilan asked, seeing the trees around them no longer having long shadows. They, instead, formed rough circles around the trees. So it would be pretty close to lunch, Gilan reasoned. More evidence came in the form of his rumbling stomach.

Douglas nodded. ''Okay. Take a set of clothes and bathe. Then when you're done, come back to the kitchen. You'll cook.'' He ordered. He heard an agreement from his apprentice as he got up and entered the cabin.

&&&

_The last day of his first week._

''Why are you smiling so oddly?'' Douglas questioned. Gilan looked up, realising a broad smile had spread across his face while he was recollecting the incident. ''Nothing, let's go. I want to see how well you shoot arrows and throw knives.''

Without pause, Gilan collected his cloak and swung it around his shoulders. He gathered his weapons and strode out of his cabin, trusting that Douglas would close the door. The happiness of having an apprentice was indeed outweighing the misery of having one.

&&&

Finally, the duo reached a mini-clearing. Douglas's annoyance had faded when he saw Gilan slipping in and out of view. Curious, he had asked why. Gilan had showed him how, by using the shadows of trees as covers. He didn't know it, of course, but Gilan was pleased with Douglas; the boy may not have been born with sneak skills, but he was able to move silently. That counted for a lot – more training would turn him into a master of unseen movement.

''Why are we here?'' Douglas asked again, then noticed the dull bundle on the forest floor. ''Take it,'' Gilan said, noticing his attention on the bag. He complied, opening a set of relatively simple and common weapons.

A longbow, Douglas noted. It was unstrung, of course. Several arrows laid besides the bow. Then, Douglas saw two knives. One was short, but broad. The hilt was odd, it made the weapon look a bit like a triangle, except that there was a rectangular piece of wood that formed the crosspiece. The other was, in comparison, narrow and long. It looked to be suited for throwing.

Douglas picked up the longbow, quite unimpressed. His opinion of it changed, though, as he saw the shape and structure of it. He stood up, before stringing it, giving out a surprised grunt at the effort it took. When it was done, he looked at Gilan.

''Shoot.'' Gilan simply said, his lips twitching. Douglas frowned at him for a long moment, earning a frown. ''You do know how to shoot an arrow with a bow, right?''

''Of course I know!'' Douglas said, offended that Gilan should cast doubt on his archery.

A mistake.

He nocked an arrow, drew and fired at a tree. Then, almost immediately, the bowstring slapped itself angrily against Douglas's arm, who yelped and jerked his arm. The arrow flew from the bow with little force, landing away from the intended target by at least eight meters. He lowered the bow, rubbing the injured spot, which was already spotting a nice shade of red, though hardly visible. ''I needed the vambrace, didn't I? Why didn't you tell me?'' His tone was almost accusing.

Gilan grinned. ''Well, perhaps this has taught you that you'll need to think twicebefore you act, eh?'' He said, putting emphasis on the word _twice. _

He took out the arm guard, fastening it on to Douglas's arm. ''Now aim again.'' Gilan told him. Douglas glared at him suspiciously, then obliged, bringing the bow up to another target, aimed and released.

Again, the arrow flew from the bow. It thudded into the target, but Douglas had misjudged the strength of the wind, hence the arrow wasn't quite in the center. ''Good. More – ''

'' – Practice, yes. I know that.'' Douglas interrupted, finishing Gilan's sentence. He thought he sounded eerily like his ex-mentor. Gilan smiled at him. ''Clip on the knives, I think – '' Gilan paused and glanced at the shadows, '' – that we'll test your knife-throwing skills.''

''Ah... what do you call that two knives?'' Douglas asked curiously. The older man smiled. ''They're a Ranger's knives. With them, you'll learn the double knife sword defence, although your swords cover that pretty well. It's still a good back-up weapon, though.

''It's also used for throwing. The longer one is called the saxe knife. It used to be called a sea axe, but then they slid together to form the word. The shorter one can be used for stunning your enemy – that's why the hilt is so broad. But enough of asking questions – throw them at a target.'' Gilan finished. _Funny... _Douglas mused, _I only asked for the names of the knives, and then it turned into history and then I'm accused of asking too many questions. It was only one!_

Douglas clipped on the knives. It took a bit of jostling to finally be able to slide out both swords and knives without any fault. When it was done, Gilan repeated the order to throw.

It was surprisingly flawless. Both knives struck in the center of a tree, even though the wind was stronger. Perhaps the extra weight was the cause. The only imperfection was withdrawing the knife, but that could be easily remedied. And then there was one last thing.

''Your cloak,'' Gilan told Douglas. He watched his apprentice break out into a smile. Quickly, as he had seen Gilan done so, he swung it around his shoulders and fastened it. ''It'll help you in becoming... invisible. Even if you don't have it, though, there's no problem – it just makes life less complicated. Now, let's go back home.'' Gilan said cheerfully, thinking of Jenny's food. Life was great at the moment.

**A/N: Yay third chapter! =DD I'm hyper. **

**Urgh. Leaving school is definitely _not _fun. Reverse physcology acting again! DD= lol. Side note; since it's the holidays, and I'll be able to _finally _get a new computer which can let me play PKO, I won't really be as quick in updating. I have poor time management. But expect a new chapter at least every fortnight.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Three Weeks Later AKA Lightning**_

_He failed._

_That's all he think of._

_He failed._

_Failed._

Failed.

Douglas shot straight up. Wild-eyed, his breath was coming in staggered halts. Salty beads of sweat covered his tanned forehead, sticking his hair together. His fists clenched simultaneously, trembling. He stared blankly at the wooden wall in front of him, seeing nothing but images of the older man flash by. The scars tingled, as if the pictures were real.

Eventually, his mind exhausted all icons of the older man. Without really noticing it, Douglas's eyes went from boring holes in the wall to actually focusing on it. He continued aimlessly tracing the grains on the wood until, abruptly, he realised that he should've already been out doing housework.

_Damn! _Douglas mentally swore, jumping out of the bed as though it contained freaky objects. He dressed with clumsy fingers, forgetting to calm down.

He buckled on his melee weapons as he exited the room. Looking up, he saw Gilan with windswept hair entering the cabin, coming back from sending his wife to her workplace. ''Ah, sorry, Gilan, I sort of spaced out, I didn't - '' The words came out in a rush as Douglas tried to explain his neglect to do his duty – the nightmare had really freaked him out.

''Woah, calm down, calm _down._'' Gilan held both hands up, even though it wouldn't do anything good. Douglas looked at him, worried. ''Right, if it's your nightmares again, chill. I'm not about to whack you or anything. And you can spring-clean later; just display two plates of breakfast. We're going to visit someone.'' Gilan said, guessing correctly that the reason for Douglas's outburst was his dreams. If the boy slept without the disturbance, he would usually be quiet. But if not, then an outburst was evident, usually after an incident, like this one. Whatever that had affected him in the past was severe. At least two years had passed, but the event was stuck in his head.

**GILAN'S POV**

Gilan observed his apprentice as he walked in the general direction of where his horse, Blaze, was kept. The younger boy was a bit distracted, probably because of his dream. It was affecting him, he was beginning to walk in the light. Of course, it was fine, but not now, not when he had already told Douglas to treat this as his training. Gilan had tried to ignore the fact that he was starting to avoid the shadows, but enough was enough. He couldn't let his apprentice keep up this sloppy work, not when the Gathering was less than nine months away. And healso needed to learn how to separate personal matters from his education.

Gilan stopped, waiting for the teenager to register the movement. He didn't, instead, Douglas just continued walking. Impatiently, Gilan waved a hand in front of the boy's face when the latter was close.

Douglas started and looked up at his mentor. Annoyed, Gilan said, ''Douglas, if you're really going to become a Ranger, you're going to have to pay _attention._''

''I did.''

''You didn't. You just walked around treating daylight as the cover, brooding over your ridiculous nightmare, not focusing at all. Don't think I don't know.'' Gilan added firmly, though he wasn't quite sure. But it was the only explanation for the distraction. He saw that the former was not responding, and reasoned he was correct. Pressing on, he continued, ''If you aren't even paying attention to your surroundings, then how can you move about unseen? What, just do it and hope nobody sees it?''

Douglas glanced at him and looked away. It looked like he didn't give a damn about Gilan's lecture, but get to know him better and one would realise that he was actually feeling guilty. He just didn't look guilty; his body language didn't give away any ideas, making Gilan wonder if he had taken up some sort of acting lessons. After a few moments, Douglas finally nodded.

Gilan frowned at him for a moment, making sure the message had sunk in. Once he was sure of it, he nodded and resumed walking to Evan's hut. It originally belonged to Old Bob, but he had died a few years back. Being his son, Evan had naturally taken over his post, after he had came back from Hibernia, working on some other job.

**EVAN'S POV**

Evan, a stocky male in his late twenties, leaned against a fence. He waited for the Ranger and his apprentice to come, which warranted only a few moments' boredom, although he didn't really notice it, for his attention had been occupied by a patch devoid of plants. He had buried his father there, and after almost four-and-twenty months, the area was beginning to show signs of grass and weed. Evan glanced at the wooden structure that served as his home. It was a rickety cabin, hazardous if the wind was blowing particularly strong. Evan reminded himself to repair the hut; he didn't fancy a premature death. Apart from the unstable cottage, there was a lean-to shed. A sloping roof, the four customary posts to hold the covering upright, and that was it. No walls, no nothing.

''Evan!'' A friendly voice called, breaking the said person out of his observation. He jumped, and swung his eyes around to see the Ranger and his apprentice. The former had a happy face, but by contrast, the younger male was not. He looked like he was paying attention alright, but his leafy-green eyes seemed distant, like he was contemplating something.

'' 'Morning, Ranger! Who've ye bring along to see me?'' Evan cheerfully raised a hand in greeting.

''Douglas, my apprentice.'' The Ranger answered. Evan didn't see the former's left hand, the hand that was closer to the younger male nudge his elbow slightly. He _did, _however, see a sudden and slight stiffening of his shoulders. ''Ah... good morning,'' Douglas greeted, a second or so later.

''Are they ready?'' The Ranger asked. Evan grinned, nodding his head. ''Came with me! 'Tep this way,'' he called.

**GILAN'S POV**

For his part, Gilan again realised himself why he did _not _like the way commoners talked. It was hard to distinguish the words, especially since he came from a rich family, where the people around spoke words clearly. Evan came from a poor family; Old Bob had only gotten the job when he was in his early twenties. It took a fairly long time for Old Bob to bring in a substantial amount of money. And by then, the ten-year-old Evan had mixed around with the commoners for too long – he began to talk in the same way as well. And, to top off the icing on the happy cake, Evan had only recently moved back to Araluen. His accent interrupted and mixed up the words, which was already confusing. At least Douglas didn't talk like that.

He looked at his apprentice, wondering what was wrong with him. _Perhaps I should've waited, but... no, he needs to learn how to focus 100% on his training. He can go about daydreaming later, but he can't _ mused.

''See 'em?'' Evan questioned. Gilan looked at the direction he was pointing, and smiled. Another horse came with his horse, but he couldn't care more about it, so long as Blaze was coming, hence he never paid much attention to how his apprentice stiffened. And anyway, Gilan was pretty sure Douglas was just surprised that the horses were small. Blaze nickered and trotted towards Gilan, who grinned easily and stuck out a hand for the apple bin. He grabbed one and offered it to Blaze, her name given by the marking on her face, as well as her temper – fiery for a mare. She was a light-bay mare, fine-legged and tall, just like Gilan.*

The horse crunched the apple happily, looking blissful. Her rider patted her and turned to watch the other horse. He realised that the other horse was slightly taller than the average Ranger horse – just like Douglas, who was just a bit taller than typical Araluens. The horse's legs were a little longer, but still sturdy-looking. Barrel-shaped body announced the uniqueness of Ranger horses. The horse's mane and tail were tangled together, uncombed. It was a sorrel chestnut, and had a stripe as a facial marking.

''Good horse, he. Called Lightning, looks 'bout yah size, eh?'' Evan smiled at Douglas. _He looks wary... heh, he's probably still getting over the shock that Ranger horses are small. He must've been thinking if they won't collapse under his weight – hell, I sure did. Still, they can beat whatever horse that he'd ridden. Especially this one, Lightning. The name is already self-explanatory. _Gilan thought, watching Douglas nodded slowly and take the reins proffered by the other male. Evan laughed. ''No needa be so polite to me, boy. Thinkin' of those big dumb battlehorses, eh?'' The thickset male chortled again. ''Yet he'd run 'em down quick as ever! Looks're deceivin', they sure are.''

''Ah... okay,'' Douglas said, his face clean of emotions. But three weeks spent with him meant that Gilan could identify his nervousness, the way his fingers kept twitching. It was a minimal movement, of course, but Rangers were trained to observe any tiny motions. ''Why don't you try capturing him in the paddock?'' Gilan asked, a sly grin on his face. Douglas looked at him, his eyes narrowing slightly.

After the archery incident, Douglas had quickly learnt that any suggestions that were proposed that gladly often meant bad news for him. But he couldn't say anything in front of Evan... well he could, just that it wouldn't go down well. Gilan had him trapped.

Douglas resumed his poker face, releasing the reins. Lightning must've training in this part, stepping lightly back and away from the boy, entering the paddock. The latter walked towards the horse slowly, murmuring something that the wind carried away from Gilan. But he was pretty sure that it went something along the lines of _Stay still, boy, stay still. _Gilan had used that sentence, hell, except for the founders of Ranger Corps, Gilan was pretty sure the other Rangers, in all probability, said the same thing.

Gilan watched as the horse sidestepped Douglas neatly. Apparently, he didn't seem to be very interested in obeying his soon-to-be rider's command. The Ranger watched as the same thing happened for four times, until Douglas finally cracked. Losing his temper, he chased after Lightning, and as the horse ducked around him, Douglas managed to wild-grab the reins. Surprised, his grip loosened for a second, but it was enough. Lightning escaped, just as his fist clenched together again.

Douglas froze in that posture for exactly a second, before his airborne foot slammed down on the earth to maintain the balance. A moment later and Douglas regained his composure and glared at the horse. His mouth moved and Gilan was sure it was another bout of cursing. He was used to it by now, only telling him to shut up when anyone was near. This was the case, but Evan didn't hear – Douglas wasn't facing him, and the wind was blowing to the west, bringing the oaths safely out of way.

&&&

Gilan watched the teenager, who finally seemed to have given up on catching the horse directly, which was a good thing – Evan was trying hard not to burst into hysterical laughter, but he couldn't help it – he chuckled at least once every ten seconds. It was either that, though, or laughing out loud in uproarious mirth. Gilan suspected that if his apprentice had continued chasing after Lightning for even just _one _more time, then Evan would have really lost control. The entertainment that he had gotten out of watching Douglas had sapped most of his energy; Evan was completely dependent on a fence for same could almost be said for Gilan; he was struggling to control his laughter, but the only difference was that he had gone through this before. In the end, the solution was quite simple, and a testimony to the fact that brainy people would always rule over brawny people. In short, this test taught the taker about using his brains, and not just depending on strength alone.

**DOUGLAS'S POV**

Douglas dragged his hand across his forehead. Sweat ran down his face, getting into his eyes, and even into his mouth. The same salty water made his tunic stick on to his body like a second skin, and Douglas wouldn't have been surprised if the light green clothing had turned somewhat translucent. His breath came in and out quickly, yet there never seemed to be enough oxygen for his lungs. His skin, wet with perspiration, gleamed if the sun's rays splayed on him. With his tan, he seemed like a wet, bronze statue. He could even pose for one far away, if his shoulders and head weren't moving as he continued supplying air to his body. He glared at the horse, Lightning, his name was. Despite the small size, he was swift. Hence, the name, he supposed.

And for the first time ever in his life, Douglas thought that he'd be contented with a horse named _Slow._

But he was stuck with this devil. He continued staring with narrowed eyes at Lightning, who whined with amusement. Douglas felt a combination of fury and annoyance rise up at the sound. He struggled to contain the mixture - it wouldn't do any good at this point or at any other point - and instead glanced around his surroundings, blinking away the ever-infuriating perspire that threatened to enter his eyes and sting them more painfully.

He saw a stack of firewood, a working table, some bruised apple, and flowers growing nearby. His eyes passed by them without pause. A fence, the apple bin, another table full of –

_Apples!_

Yes, now he remembered. Gilan had given an apple to crunch for his horse, hadn't he? And shouldn't he realised that the horses loved treats, particularly apples? Douglas mumbled an oath, directed at himself for his stupidity, as he ducked under a rail and stretched his hand for an apple.

His fingers grabbed one and he returned to the paddock, where Lightning waited for him. Holding out the fruit, Douglas walked slowly to the horse. He eyed Douglas with amusement in its russet-coloured eyes, before accepting the offered apple. As it crunched up the apple, Douglas finally smiled in relief. ''Now you know the concept of thinking things out, right, Douglas?'' Gilan asked, eyes twinkling with delight. Douglas nodded, then heard a chortle.

He glanced at the source to find Evan leaning against the fence, having a bout of slightly maniacal laughter, his mouth being covered by his hand to muffle the sound. When the spell ended, Evan cough apologetically and said, ''Sorry 'bout that. Just thought of ye chasin' Lightning around funny. But ye're clever, boy, clever indeed. Ye figured it out quick enough, boy. Make a great team with Lightning 'ere, ye will.'' Evan laughed again, this time in control.

''Mind if we stay for the night?'' Gilan asked. Evan nodded rapidly. ''Sure can do, Ranger!'' His eyes twinkled.

&&&

The rest of day was spent with Evan, learning how to comb Lightning. Grooming was included, of course, and any other cleaning tricks that would help were taught. Douglas felt a bit frustrated, didn't he know all these? Although, to be honest, he had only groomed a battlehorse, so it wasn't really counted.

''C'mon, day's wasting. Go in and help us make dinner.'' Gilan told Douglas. The latter groaned inwardly. His arms felt sore and aching, like he had done fifty push-ups, given a brief break, and did another fifty pull-ups. Now Gilan was telling him to cook dinner alone – the _help us _were useless, removing the two words didn't change the meaning behind the sentence.

With a sigh, Douglas walked to the kitchen. As he passed by Gilan, the latter said jokingly, ''Make sure you don't break Evan's crockery, alright? He won't be happy if you do so.''

The sweaty boy halted in his tracks, then continued walking, redness evident under the bronze hue of his cheeks and ears. He hoped Gilan wouldn't see it; perhaps the colour couldn't pass his tan. As he entered the kitchen, he exhaled in relief. He didn't hear a chuckle from Gilan, so it was okay.

Wasn't it?

**GILAN'S POV**

Gilan yawned hugely. Nighttime had fallen over them while they sat around Evan's table and ate the food Douglas had cooked. Now he was stretched out on the wooden floor, his eyelids starting to grow heavy as he laid there, waiting for sleep to come. He smiled almost sleepily, remembering how the sleeping arrangements had been made.

He had first insisted on letting Evan sleep on his own bed. The latter had protested, but was won over. Gilan had then quickly claimed the spot near the fireplace as his sleeping area, leaving Douglas to bed down with the horses, using the hay as his mattress. Of course, Douglas hadn't gone down without a fight, but Gilan was aided by Evan, who had chuckled, saying, ''Ah, boy, it'll do ye 'ood. Build ye strength, sure does!''

Douglas had lost that argument, so he was pretty much kicked out of the house, just like Gilan, when he was Halt's apprentice. The only difference at that was that Old Bob hadn't sided with anybody, but Evan did.

Gilan then thought of tomorrow, it would certainly be interesting to see the younger boy's attempt to ride Lightning...

Without really registering it, unconsciousness finally opened its arms to Gilan, enveloping him as he rested himself, preparing for tomorrow.

**A/N:**

***I'm not sure if that description was accurate, or if it even came up. But I'm pretty sure it did. I just couldn't find the description in the books, BUT the coat of Blaze's.. urm, body WAS what I made up. Speaking of which, yeah I forgot to mention that Jenny and Gilan got together in Book7 (thanks for telling me that, _Eryn Grace O' Malley_! =DD). Jenny likes Gilan, and vice versa (or should it be love? =DD), though the marriage part was what I made up too. I don't know if that will happen in later books, though I hope so =DD. I like Jenny X Gilan more than I adore Will X Alyss. Maybe it's 'cause they have sooooo much potential. LOL.**

_**Halt's Apprentice: **_**PKO is Pirate Kings Online, and yes, I realised that I'm being a bit too modern. Ah... okay (insipiration)! Imagine the shower as taking a nice cold one in the river... o.O'' I'm being too sadistic... but anyway.**

**I realised that the &&& things were reaaaaaally confusing. It can stand for a change in POV and time. So from this chapter onwards, I'll just put &&& as time change. Still be the same person's POV... now I'm **_**really**_** making things confusing. Eeeek. Then I read the story, and well yeah. Think I didn't really portray Duckee well. I'll edit, but the changes would be minor. So... yeah =DD.**

**Duckee! Next chapter will reveal some of Duckee's history.... but it depends on how you look at it. =DD I like torturing Duckee for some really random reason. Seems kinda fun. Torturing Gilan ain't as fun DD=**


	5. Chapter 5

_**You Want to Ride Him? **_

**DOUGLAS'S POV**

''Try walkin' Lightning 'round, boy,'' Evan suggested cheerfully. Douglas glanced at Gilan, who seemed to be sharing an inside joke with the stocky male. The apprentice hesitated, before glancing at Lightning. Mirth glimmered in his russet eyes, though for some reason he couldn't figure it out. He gave up figuring out their plan, adopting a 'Heck care, I'll do it. Hang the consequences,' attidude.

Douglas tightened his grip on the reins, faced Lightning and pulled. The boy could feel the animal's amused gaze on him, although for the life of him the young boy couldn't begin to understand why, just as he couldn't begin to comprehend why the damned horse couldn't just _move…_

And he realized.

He turned around so that he looked away from Lightning, and walked. The rein, as he expected, grew less taut as Lightning followed him. Douglas looked at Gilan and had the satisfaction of seeing surprise, shock and disbelief mixed around and plastered on his face before he hastily schooled it into one of grinning approval.

''That's good, Douglas. Now try riding him,'' Gilan proposed. This time, though, the said person glared at the speaker, who seemed to realize the suspicion in the stare. ''What? I suggest for you to ride the horse and you eye me like I'm a liar. _Evan _suggests for you to walk the horse around and you trust _him. _No offence intended, Evan. I'm just hurt that my apprentice decides I'm a _liar_.'' Gilan assumed an injured expression as the sentences burst out of him in a rant. But it wasn't finished.

''Right, so I become a fake just because I accidentally forget to remind you about your arm guards? How unfair – ''

''Okay, okay! I'll ride Lightning.'' Douglas interrupted, then as he turned to sit on the saddled horse, he muttered, ''Bloody hell. There _must _be something –''

He never got to finish the sentence, because exactly two seconds after he sat on Lightning, he felt a strange tremble shiver its way through the horse.

The next moment he was flying, performing an airborne somersault.

**GILAN'S POV**

Gilan watched with amusement as his apprentice swung himself up onto Lightning. The trick had worked…

_Flashback_

_Elephants drumming their feet on the floor could _not _be as loud as this. The vibrations wove their way to Gilan, who was awoken from his sleep quite roughly. He groaned. _

''_Whaza happen?'' The words, layered with sleepiness and tinted with a bit of grumpiness, burst out of Gilan's mouth. He sat up, yawning widely and opening his tired eyes. _

_Everything looked blurry. Gilan blinked away the reflex tears that came when he yawned, and things began to look slightly less vague. They were still indistinct, but he could see well enough to spot the light tan that belonged to Evan. Douglas's skin tone was much darker and anyway, Evan was very loud when it came to walking, the complete opposite of his apprentice._

''_I woke ye up? Sorry, Ranger,'' Evan apologized, although Gilan doubted the apology was sincere. However, he shrugged and good-naturedly said, ''I was about to wake up anyway.''_

_&&&_

''_Hey, Evan.'' Gilan said, suddenly having inspiration striking him. Douglas was still sleeping in the barn, apparently the straw was too comfortable. He would have an excuse to tease his apprentice, but that wasn't the time now. ''Yah?'' Evan asked._

''_You want to pull a prank on Douglas?''_

''_Douglas? He that apprentice of yer?''_

''_Yes.''_

''_Ah… what sorta prank ye willin' to pull?''_

_At this, Gilan was silent for a while, working through the finer details of the joke. ''Well…'' he started slowly, ''It's quite simple. You suggest for him to walk Lightning around. Then, after he accomplishes it – not without making a fool of himself, mind – I will propose for him to ride Lightning. Obviously, he doesn't know about Lightning's codeword, so he'll fly off Lightning, and we can enjoy a good laugh about it.''_

''_Hm… interestin'.'' Evan agreed after a pause, then suddenly grinned. ''Ye Rangers are pretty devilish, eh? Playing tricks on yer apprentice.''_

_Gilan grinned easily. ''That's why we're Rangers.''_

_End flashback_

A strident, slightly out of control laughter frightened the birds in the vicinity, letting them echo the mirth. Gilan didn't have to look to see that it was Evan, having his strange laughing fit. Instead he let his gaze swing over to his apprentice, in time to see him execute a somersault before instinct seemed to take over. He began to perform what looked like another one, only it seemed sideways, but he couldn't really. There was too little distance between his rapidly descending body and the slightly muddy ground.

He crashed into the mucky earth with his arm having the first impact, then followed by his left side of his body.

Gilan winced, he could only imagine the pain involved, even though the ground wasn't really hard. Maybe the trick wasn't such a good idea, but as he watched, Douglas managed to get up. He swayed around on his unsteady legs, finally using Lightning as a form of support as his uninjured hand massaged his upper arm.

Evan's laughter continued. Douglas glared at him, embarrassment showing in his face, although the coffee-tan covered most of the redness. The flush that _did _manage to appear, though, was enough to send Evan back into his fit, only much worse than before.

Which still did not help Douglas's flush.

''What did I do wrong?'' He asked, wincing.

''Nothing quite wrong… if this was the typical everyday horse. But Ranger horses aren't average horses; the other major difference besides their shape and senses is that you need a codeword before you can ride them. Otherwise, you… well, you experienced what it was like to ride them without the code. Makes our life much easier, because then our horses can't be stolen.'' Gilan grinned, just managing to keep his own laughter under control.

''Then why didn't you tell me?'' His tone was almost accusing.

''Well, you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you that you would be tumbled out of the saddle because of a codeword, right?'' Gilan asked back, knowing the younger boy disliked second-hand accounts. He wanted to try things out, instead of listening to stories, thinking that they were simply exaggerations. First-hand expriences didn't lie.

Douglas glanced away. ''True,'' he admitted. ''So… what's the code?''

''Storm,'' Evan chuckled, calming down.

**DOUGLAS'S POV**

''Storm?'' Douglas repeated incredulously.

''Uh-huh, the code for Lightning's Storm.'' Evan nodded, a bit too innocently. ''No boya be able to ride Lightning without the code. You should say it to his ear, the code,'' he continued.

…_What the hell? Of _course _I'm going to say the bloody code to the bloody horse's ears. Where else am I going to say it to? The eyes? _Douglas thought, as he gingerly turned to face Lightning. The horse hadn't gone easy on him and his upper arm hurt a lot. But at least he didn't stick out his arm. _Then_ his arm would probably be broken. There would be a lot of bruising, but it was okay. He had gone through worse.

He felt slightly embarrassed as he whispered the code into Lightning's ears. It seemed impossible that a horse could actually understand whatever he was saying. Then again, it could buck him off just because he didn't say the code.

''Storm,'' he muttered, taking a quick step backwards.

Lightning neighed softly and his russet eyes swiveled around to observe Douglas.

''Go on, ride him now, won't hurt ye.'' Evan said. Douglas glanced uncertainly at Evan, then sighed and heaved himself up onto Lightning. His arm sent a sudden wave of pain, as if protesting his decision to ride the horse. Douglas flinched, but otherwise ignored the sensation.

Hesitantly, he tapped his heels into Lightning's ribs. The horse's ears pricked up and he began an easy walk around the paddock. Douglas sat there, almost rigid, still unsure if the horse would decide to throw him off. Then, after a few seconds, he relaxed and moved his body accordingly to Lightning's gait.

''Come on, Douglas. Take Lightning out and see what he can do.'' Gilan called, removing the short rope that kept the paddock closed. He pushed the gate out of the way, ignoring the creaks the gate made in objection.

Douglas, after a short pause, turned the horse towards the gate's direction, and as they passed his master, knocked his heels gently once more. In response, Lightning broke into a gentle trot. Another soft tap on his ribs and Douglas felt the muscles bunch up momentarily, then abruptly, the horse broke into a swift gallop. Douglas leaned forward, hearing nothing except the wind whistling past his ears. Lightning seemed to enjoy the run, running increasingly speedily as he neared the forest's edge, then veered almost sharply to his right when his rider pulled on the right-hand reins.

Lightning completed almost an exact semicircle as he carried the tanned teenager back to the two adults. Douglas pulled back on the reins gently, letting his horse slow down his speed gradually, until Lightning stopped just besides Gilan.

Slightly wide-eyed, and hair completely windswept, the apprentice was about to open his mouth, when Evan chuckled and said, ''He's real fast, eh? One of the fastest horse I've gotten around to train, and mind ye, I've trained lots. And he sure will beat those clumsy horses those warriors all ride. Can keep his pace all day long, boy.''

Douglas nodded. Then Gilan, somewhat impatiently, said, ''Well, I guess we should go now, thanks, Evan, for taking care of Blaze and Lightning.''

Evan laughed again and cheerfully said, ''My pleasure, Ranger, pleasure. Ah, by the way, boy. Once you've said the word, there's no need to say again. Lightning here'll remember you.''

Again, Douglas nodded. ''Right, bye, Evan,'' Gilan said, already moving off at a brisk trot. Startled, Douglas tapped his heels again, following his master.

On the way, they passed the apple bin. Douglas hesitated, then leaned dangerously sideways, grabbing several apples. He stuffed the fruits into his pockets, rapping his heels against Lightning's ribs in order to catch up.

''Gilan,'' Douglas said, once he had caught up with his master, ''What's your horse's name? And… ah… why is Lightning's codeword... well, so simple? Wouldn't that be easier to guess?''

The said person seemed to sigh before answering, ''She's called Blaze, and I agree, it would be less difficult to steal Lightning, but most people won't think of stealing a Ranger horses; they're scared of us, believing if they stole our horses, we'd come after them and turn them into a toad.'' At here, Gilan smiled dryly, then continued, ''Those who aren't such idiots and want to be a horse-thief, however, will definitely fail – the codeword is one of the secrets we go to great lengths to hide. There's only the Rangers who know of the code's existence.''

''Ah…'' Douglas muttered, but before he could ask another question, Gilan said, ''Right. Enough of questions, it's going to be dark soon.'' Without waiting for his apprentice's acknowledgement, he clapped his heels against Blaze's sides.

The mare shot away like an arrow from a bow. In just several seconds, she began to assume a vague shape in the forests. Startled, Douglas sat there stupidly, then urged his horse to follow Blaze. He felt the wind whistle past him as his eyes zoned in on his mentor, while still encouraging Lightning to greater speeds.

**A/N: So I'm done with the fifth chapter~**

**Sorry it's so short, (less than 2300 words!) but then I forgot to join this one to the fourth chapter and… so yeah. The next chapter **_**will **_**have action involved and a chance to maybe learn about Duckee's past. =DD**


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